


West of the Sun, East of the Moon

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, No promises on updates, Unfinished, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road goes ever on, as does life. Endings and beginnings just keep happening, even when you happen to be 100 years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	West of the Sun, East of the Moon

**SR 1482**

_Still round the corner there may wait ___  
A new road or a secret gate,  
And though I oft have passed them by,  
A day will come at last when I  
Shall take the hidden paths that run  
West of the Moon, East of the Sun. 

*

Meriadoc Brandybuck came to Great Smials on a grey fall evening; he swung off his pony and led her into the stables, where he handed her off to the young stable-lad (was it another of the endless procession of pony-tending Tuckborough Chubbs?) before trotting across the yard and ducking into a side entrance of the warren. The corridors were empty—Merry’s stomach informed him that it was supper-time, and all sensible hobbits were tucking in—and he turned through the familiar hallways until he came to the apartments of the Thain.

He knocked lightly, then entered. Passing through the parlor, he knocked again and waited for the familiar thin voice that bade him enter.

He found Diamond Took propped up in bed, reclining against at least four pillows, fire blazing in the grate. “My dear,” he said, crossing to kiss her sunken cheek. “Are you all alone?”

“Oh, only for a moment,” she said. “My goodness, Meriadoc, do you and Pippin never age?”

“I was going to say the same to you,” he replied, perching on the edge of the bed. Of course it was an untruth, her skin so fragile now that he held her hand as if it were glass, afraid he might bruise her.

She pursed her lips at him, then smiled. “You’re a terrible liar, my friend, but I appreciate it,” she said. Her eyes, though too large in her thin face, were still bright, and she patted his hand so lightly he could hardly feel it. “You look thirty years younger than me, even though you’re thirteen older. It does seem unfair, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve always assumed that Pip and I will live forever, since it’s a known fact that the wicked carry on and only good hobbits die young,” Merry said, then could have kicked himself. She laughed, though, a soft wheeze, and patted him again, her hand light and trembling as a leaf.

“Pippin is fetching our dinner,” she said. “What brings you here?”

He was sweating from the heat of the fire, and he carefully laid her hand down so he could stand and pull off his cloak—soft, changeable grey, as beautiful now as it had been when it was given him, more than six decades before. He reseated himself and took her hand again. “I’ve news of Samwise—and I’ve come to steal Pippin from you for a few days, if you can spare him,” he said, looking intently into her face.

“You mean, if I can hold on for a few days more?” she asked.

He looked away, tears prickling in his nose and eyes. “Ah, Diamond,” he said.

“I’ve a week or two left in me,” she said simply. “Is Sam going East or West?”

Merry looked back at her, and the tears overflowed, though he spoke clearly enough as they traced lines down his soft and weathered face. “West,” he said, “I fear he’s taking ship, and I don’t want him to travel alone on this last journey.”

“No, certainly not,” she said. She laid her head back against the pillows, closing her eyes for a moment. “You and Pippin must go.” Merry nodded, wiping his free hand across his face.

The hobbit under discussion backed into the room just then, using his rear to open the door, as his hands braced a heavy dinner tray. “Stew tonight, dearest,” he said, then swung round and saw the Master of Buckland. “Merry!” he cried, setting the tray carefully down and then striding across the room to them. “What are you doing here?” Pippin demanded. He squinted at their clasped hands on the counterpane in mock outrage. “I see what it is, you’ve come to seduce my wife away from me at last!” Pippin exclaimed.

“He’s found us out,” Merry said to Diamond.

“And they call him a fool,” she replied, winking with an effort.

“No one has called me that in ages,” Pippin protested, hauling Merry upright for a tight embrace.

“Oh yes, since at least last week,” Merry agreed. He spoke into Pippin’s hair—the curls gone mostly silver, but still tousled and full as ever.

Pippin squeezed him, then let him go. “Have you eaten?” he said. “Let me call for more.”

“Don’t be silly,” Diamond said, “You always bring me too much. Merry shall share with me.”

“You need to eat everything I bring you,” Pippin said mulishly, “you’ve got to keep your strength up.”

Diamond raised an eyebrow at him, but said only, “You can go for more if we need it. Sit down, now, and hush. Merry is here for something other than my seduction _or_ calling you a fool.”

“To be fair,” Merry said, “those were on my list as well. But now that we’ve got them out of the way—” he dropped his voice to a stage whisper— “I’ll pick you up in four days, Diamond, make sure to pack lightly”—then went on: “Pip, I’ve had a letter from young Merry and Peregrin. Sam’s headed West.”

Pippin sucked in a breath. “When did he leave?”

“Two days ago—of course—"

“Stubborn halfwise halfwit--"

“But they said he plans to stop at the Towers to see Elanor and Fastred, so we’ve time, I hope.”

Pippin began to nod, then stopped himself and sat down on the bed, looking, suddenly, almost his true age. “We should’ve guessed,” he said. “We should’ve kept a closer eye on him at this time of year, of all times.” Diamond touched his hair; he leaned his head down to her, laying his silver hair against hers, reaching at the same time for Merry.

Who sat down on the bed, too, and lay his hand over Pippin’s. “We have time. I think we can catch him—either at the Towers or at the Havens themselves.”

Pippin shook his head. “Merry, I can’t leave right now.” He sat up again, and his eyes met Merry’s.

Diamond slapped his arm, light as a feather. “You can and you will,” she said.

“Diamond—”

“Peregrin, I’m not long for this world, but I’ve time enough for you to go and return.” He lifted his head and met her eyes; she tipped her head sideways and gave him a small smile. “It’s time you gave Faramir and Goldilocks a chance to fuss over me for a few days anyhow,” she said. “But stop talking for now, and let’s eat. Merry’s perishing, and you are, too. You’ll make bad decisions on an empty stomach.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it and leaned to kiss her cheek. “You’re right, of course,” he said.

The next minutes were spent in setting a sturdy, wooden-legged tray across Diamond’s lap—she hardly made a shape under the covers, so thin she was, Merry saw, and he felt the grief rise in him again. For Diamond, yes, and for the loss he saw coming soon to his cousin—his oldest and best friend, the other half of him still—and there was also his own grief, for the lively young lass Diamond had been, and the wise and gentle and wickedly sharp mistress and matron she’d become, Merry’s fast friend. Then, too, Pippin’s loss reminded Merry of his own, five years gone now: Estella at rest beneath the green grass of the Marish, and his own rooms in Brandy Hall far too quiet in the evenings, now his three children were hobbits grown.

He let none of this show, he hoped, but settled on the little sofa and ate Pippin’s stew, while Pippin shared Diamond’s portion, teasing and chivvying her to eat a bite and another and yet another. She lay her head back on the pillow and fell asleep halfway through the meal, and Pippin lifted the tray from the bed, setting it aside and smoothing her thin hair back, before crossing to sit by Merry.

“Should we leave, or…?” Merry asked, speaking low, and Pippin shook his head.

“No, she’ll sleep and wake regardless of whether we’re here and talking,” he said quietly. “I like to stay nearby.”

“I’m so sorry, Pip,” Merry said. “I hadn’t realized how frail she’s become.”

Pippin nodded, and looked away. “She hardly leaves the bed anymore,” he said, “she eats less and less.”

“I should’ve come sooner,” Merry said.

Pippin lifted his hand, a negation. “No,” he said, “there’s nothing—”

Merry grabbed his hand out of the air. “I should’ve come sooner,” he repeated, and pulled Pippin sideways into an embrace. Pippin sighed and lay his head on Merry’s shoulder, and didn’t protest.

 

*

Merry and Pippin rode out early the next day, September twenty-fifth. Faramir stayed in his mother’s room, and Goldilocks walked them to the stables, where their ponies were waiting. “You tell my Papa I love him,” she said, and wrapped her arms around Merry, then Pippin, sniffling a little. She squeezed Pippin extra and looked into his face. “We’ll take good care of Diamond,” she said, and he nodded and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, my dear, I know you will,” he said, and he didn’t look back as they rode out of the yard.

They rode west at a steady canter-trot-walk, speaking seldom. Pippin took them first through wooded hills on little-used paths, cutting across the land until Michel Delving, when they joined the great East Road.

Great it was in those days, many years into the peaceful reign of Elessar, the Elfstone—Strider as the two hobbits preferred, or Aragorn. Beneath the king’s peace, the land of Eregion had blossomed, trade opening north and south, west and even east. The hobbits had been given their homeland free and clear in 1427, the year in which Pippin and Diamond had married. Under the leadership of the Master, Thain, and Mayor, the Shire had begun then to cautiously expand west.

Now, years since the addition of the western lands, the fields lay peaceful and autumn-brown beneath the dappled sun and shadow of the fall day. The pastures were dotted with working hobbits, for harvest was near, and Pippin and Merry passed many slow-moving wains, drawn by ponies or the small donkeys much loved for their hardiness by the western hobbits. The two riders lifted their hands but didn’t stop to talk, even when they passed through Michel Delving, home to _The Seven Drakes_ and some of the best beer in the Shire. Both sent it a longing glance, but passed it without demur.

Evening found them on the slowly falling western hills between Michel Delving and the Westmarch, no inn in sight and no habitations, either. They left the road and set up a rough camp in a copse of beeches, the leaves above shading in the early autumn from green to copper.

Merry began a small fire as Pippin curried and fed the ponies; by the time he came back from a nearby stream with them—and a gurgling jug of water for himself and Merry—there were toasted mushrooms and sausages. Pippin hobbled the horses and settled by the fire, groaning a little as he did so. “I haven’t ridden so far at such a pace in an age,” he said; Merry nodded and passed him a tin dish of food.

“Day two for me,” he reminded Pippin. “It gets worse.” He grinned a little.

“How delightful,” Pippin replied. “Something to look forward to tomorrow.”

 

*

The Westmarch, from the Far Downs to the Tower Hills, was added to Shire lands in 1452, by Shire Reckoning. It was Samwise Gamgee’s son-in-law Fastred who came to hold authority over the Westmarch, chosen by the many hobbits who had relocated to the newly opened hills in a time of great digging and cultivation. Fastred and Elanor Fairbairn (as they were now mostly called) removed to the Tower Hills; in the long shadow of those towers they built and grew, the hillsides staked with grape arbors and olive trees, interspersed with asparagus and potato fields, rapeseed, millet, and wheat.

Pippin and Merry rode into the village at the feet of the Grey Towers just after tea time. Both accepted help in dismounting, from the taciturn hobbit in charge of the Undertowers stable; both groaned and walked stiff for a moment or three, laughing at one another. “Oh, for a hot bath,” Pippin said, rubbing his rear end for a moment.

“And a glass of good wine,” Merry agreed. “If we’ve time.”

A child had run ahead of them and Elanor came to meet them as they crossed the yard. “The Master and the Thain, come to visit me once more,” she said, and embraced them one after another. “My father is still here—you’ve come in time.” Her eyes were sad but she smiled at them both, holding their hands. She was grown now, a matron in her own right; her hair still golden, pulled into a thick braid down her back, cap on her head.

A weight slid from Merry’s shoulders; he nodded to her and they followed her inside. The smial was smallish, in compare to Brandy Hall or Great Smials, but rambling enough, and unfamiliar enough, that they were glad of her guidance as they made their way to Sam. Up a flight of stairs and she opened a door, ushering them into a room bright with sunlight, facing west halfway up the hill.

Sam: there he was, a bit stooped but still sturdy and strong. He stood when they came in, and all three stopped for a moment. Merry’s nose prickled with unshed tears but he smiled instead, stepping forward to pull Sam in for a hug. “Thought you’d slip away, did you?” he mumbled, and felt Sam’s nearly inaudible chuckle. Sam felt solid and familiar against Merry; sixty and more years of friendship and comfort in one embrace.

“Never in life,” Sam said, turning to Pipping for his next embrace. “I knew those dratted lads would tip you off.”

“The most useful thing they’ve ever done,” Pippin said, thumping Sam’s back gently. He sniffled and stepped back, smiling, nose pink.

“When do you ride?” Merry asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Sam said. “You’ll come with me to the harbor?”

Pippin nodded as Merry did, saying, “It’s why we’ve come.”

Sam’s familiar brown eyes smiled at them both. “I’m glad,” he said simply.

 

*

The passed the evening in comfort, talking with Elanor and Fastred of small matters, chuckling over old stories. Sam told his daughter about the time he and Frodo had found Merry and Pippin fast asleep in the cellar, where they’d accidentally locked themselves. “Oh, did he ever boil when he found that you’d emptied two bottles of his best Old Winyards,” Sam said, as all three dissolved into laughter. “I thought sure he’d take it out of your hides.”

“Not Frodo,” Merry said, “he was always too soft-hearted with us.” His face crinkled with merriment. “Do you remember when I found your still?”

“Oi, it was me who found it!” Pippin exclaimed.

“I had to buy you so many ales that summer,” Sam said, laughing again, wiping his eyes. “And then it turned out Bilbo knew about it and had been helping himself—” They collapsed against one another, wheezing with hilarity.

Elanor and Fastred smirked and let them talk on, refilling their cups with watered wine. They went to bed at a late hour, but the morning found them awake early anyhow. Pippin groaned about his stiff legs, shuffling about the room he’d shared with Merry, pulling his clothing slowly on; Merry lay on his side and watched, smiling a little. “Come here,” he said, and Pippin did; Merry sat up and reached for him, wrapped his arms around Pippin. “Still too skinny for a proper hobbit,” he said into Pippin’s hair.

Pippin sighed and tucked his arms around Merry, laying his head upon the familiar shoulder. “I’m terribly improper,” he agreed, and closed his eyes. “What’re we hanging onto each other for?” he asked after a moment, though he knew, of course. Merry knew he knew.

“It’s going to be a difficult day,” Merry said. “Just thought I’d rather start from here.” He meant, _here, in your arms_ , and he knew Pippin knew that as well.

“Yes,” Pippin said, and lifted his head. He pressed a brief kiss to Merry’s cheek, just by the corner of his mouth. “Come along, slowcoach,” he said gently. “Sooner begun, sooner ended.”

“Quicker broke, quicker mended,” Merry finished. He sighed and pushed Pippin back so he could slide off the bed, onto his feet.

Sam was awake, too, and Elanor; a surprise awaited them in the stables, for Elanor wasn’t the only Gardener’s child who’d removed to the Westmarch. Young Robin and Bilbo (40 and 46, grownup and prosperous) had ridden over from the vineyard they’d eked out of the hills a few miles away, and were there to say goodbye to their father. Merry and Pippin turned to their ponies and packs, fiddling with buckles and straps already perfectly sound, giving the Mayor and his children time to weep a little, smile a little; grant one another kisses and benedictions. When they heard the conversation slow, they mounted, then looked to their friend again.

“Time to be off,” Sam said, and pulled Elanor into his arms for one more smacking kiss, as though she were a little lass again—and she taller than him for many years. He clambered aboard his steady and sturdy pony Bill, the great-great-many-great grandson of a long-ago namesake. When Sam was seated, puffing a little with the exercise, he looked at his offspring with one more smile. “My turn to go off to new lands, now,” he said, and Merry and Pippin followed him out of the stable on their own ponies, lifting a hand in farewell to Sam’s children.

 

*

Merry and Peregrin looked about themselves as they rode, remarking the changes since they’d last come so far west. As the day grew brighter, the riders left behind the cultivated Westmarch, and by noon the lands were wild again, falling toward the sea in long green scarps. Their ponies’ hooves clattered sometimes now on the Road—in somewhat better repair than it had been last time they’d passed this way, sixty years ago, but still little used except by a few hardy traders and the Elves who followed it to the sea. They stopped at noon for a few minutes to rest the ponies and have a quick bite, grousing and groaning about their old bones once dismounted, eyes bright with the journey, smiles determined although Merry and Peregrin, at least, dreaded the end of the journey. They stopped only briefly, then clambered back aboard and set off again.

Sam spoke the least, eyes fixed on the western horizon. His back was bent with years and with his long time at planting, but his face was up, calm and looking more and more as it had on another journey, many years before; his brown eyes were alight, age-spotted and gnarled hands firm on the reins.

Late in the afternoon Pippin heard the sound of gulls, and all unbidden his eyes filled with tears. He swallowed them, and clearing his throat, asked, “Have we time to halt for tea?” Making a joke of it: “I’d hardly call our noontime meal ‘luncheon,’ and I’ve got accustomed to regular meals, you know.”

He knew he was caught out when Merry and Sam turned to look at him in the saddle, but they both smiled. A few minutes later their way crossed a stream, and Sam walked Bill off the road to a shady place, sliding from his back with a grunt. “A bite and a sip would be welcome,” he confessed, “who knows whether—” He stopped himself, and Pippin felt himself freeze, too, and felt Merry’s stillness beside him, too. The three looked at one another.

“Who knows whether you’ll be sea sick,” Merry said.

“And what kind of food the Elves over the Sea will have,” Pippin added.

Sam looked at them both; his face was pink; he looked torn between smiling and weeping. “So long as it’s not _lembas_ ,” he managed, with a brief, strangled laugh, and Pippin dropped his pony’s reins and stepped forward to pull him into another embrace, feeling Merry’s arms go around them both an instant later.

“Now that we’re done pretending we’re out for a stroll,” Merry said, stepping away after a moment, bending for the reins and leading the ponies to drink, “what do you think you’ll find, away over the sea, Sam?”

Pippin rubbed his nose on his sleeve, feeling ridiculous. “Yes, I want to know, too. And how do you know you can—how did you _know?_ ” he concluded, lamely.

“When Gandalf left,” Sam said, gazing at them both a little helplessly. “He left me a letter. I didn’t get it till—well, after. That’s all.” He went to help Merry, tossing Pippin the saddlebag full of food and taking Bill’s reins, letting him drink his fill, pony and hobbit standing in the water, cool water over their feet. He went on. “I came home and Rose had the letter, she said it had come while I was away. It just said, ‘Passage is open to all the Ringbearers, dear Samwise, whenever they have need.’ And that was all. And I never had need, but my Rose is gone, and the children grown, and—” He stopped again.

“And you have need,” Merry said, and Pippin bent his head abruptly, looking down at the pack and his own hands, clutching the leather.

But Sam wasn’t done. “As for what I’ll find, well. You know, don’t you?” There was something beseeching in his voice, and Merry and Pippin both met his earnest brown eyes.

“We know,” Merry said.

“Just,” Pippin tried to begin, but he couldn’t speak, and he sat down abruptly on the grass to weep, still clutching the pack.

Merry came, as Pippin knew he would (bless him, damn him), and a moment later Sam had the ponies hobbled in the grass and he came to Pippin, too. Pippin tried to shrug them both off, struggling to get control of his runaway tears. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he choked, laughing at himself, hiccupping. Merry ignored him and sat right down, pulling him close; as he let himself fall sideways onto Merry, Pippin saw Sam settle beside them as well, reaching with one hand to squeeze Pippin’s shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Merry said, and Pippin nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the tears slow despite the great gulf of grief just beyond—the sadness of a much-loved cousin’s departure so many years ago, of Sam’s imminent departure; the looming sorrow he’d awaited for all the past months of Diamond’s long illness. He felt Merry’s kiss on his hair, and Sam still clasping his arm, a little timidly.

Pippin sat up. “I know,” he said. He wiped his face. He took a deep breath and looked at Sam hard. “Just—tell Frodo we love him, and we’ve missed him.” He sniffed, hard, and looked down again. “And tell him—tell him we’re all right. Tell him about the children, and about Strider and Faramir and everyone.”

“You’ll need another Age just to tell him about your children,” Merry put in, voice dry in a way that was entirely studied, entirely false and yet wholly true. Pippin looked gratefully at him, as did Sam.

“Aye, and that’s leaving out the grandbabies,” he said.

“Don’t even get me started,” Merry said, casting his eyes heavenward.

They sat in the dappled shade and ate lightly, spoke lightly. And far away Pippin heard a gull again, and he sighed and knew it was time to carry on.

 

*

They came out of the hills on the road to a scene much like that which had greeted them on their prior journey to the Grey Havens; the sun was higher yet in the sky, but the ship rocked at the stone quay, and Círdan the Shipwright was there again, tall and straight, looking vastly unsurprised to see them.

“Hail, Samwise of the Shire,” he said, and Sam smiled, looking past him, past the boat and the uneasy water into the west.

Pippin saw the look and knew what it meant, and he swallowed hard, for he didn’t wish to weep again quite so soon.

They got through it as best they could, helping Sam unload and unsaddle Bill. Merry promised to bring the pony back to young Merry and Pip at Hobbiton, with many oat feeds between that moment and the present one. Pippin was distracted for a few minutes by the ship, asking Círdan questions in his quick and curious way, one after another after another—Pippin did it, he knew, as distraction, and perhaps Círdan knew it, too, for he answered with no sign of impatience, until at last he turned to Sam and said, “You must come aboard, if we’re to make the evening tide.”

Then there were tears again, and smiles. Pippin thought of Gandalf’s long-ago words: _I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil._ He felt heavy though, as old as his years for once, as he pushed his damp face into Sam’s soft cloud of white hair. “We’ll miss you, Samwise,” he whispered, “take care and tell our tales to Frodo.”

Sam’s eyes were wet, too, when he let Pippin go. “Aye, I will,” he promised again. “I’ll take your love with me.”

Merry embraced him wordlessly, nodding. They watched arm in arm, then, as Sam walked onto the ship, his face peaceful. He smiled at them as the Elvish crew cast off and the ship glided from the quay, and at that smile, Pippin’s breath caught, and he felt the hitch in Merry’s breathing, too, both of them seeing as clear as if it were that morning: Frodo’s face serene at last as his own grey ship slid away, and his luminous smile, lit from within as Sam’s was now. They raised their hands, saw Sam’s hand rise as well, and then saw him turn away, facing the west and the falling sun.

 

*

Merry and Pippin rode back slowly. They’d been invited to stay the night in the Grey Havens, but without needing to consult one another, they’d politely declined. Merry felt his own sadness too raw even—or perhaps especially—for Elvish comfort, for the music and talk he knew they’d be offered by the compassion of the Elves: strangers, for all their knowing and kindness. No, it was better this way, just him and Pippin alone together, as they had been so many times in their long lives.

They stopped at the stream again, going further off the road this time to make camp for the night. They’d travelled together so often, Merry thought, setting about building their fire, cooking their shared meal; each knew his task and went about it with few words, so they settled beside one another to eat, ponies groomed and hobbled, bedrolls laid out, supper cooked, within an hour.

“I like this bread,” Pippin said, popping a last bite into his mouth. “They do grow the best olives in the Westmarch.”

“True,” Merry said. He patted his pockets until he found his pipe; packed and lit it, drawing gently until he had a satisfactory coal. “I wonder if they grow pipeweed over the sea.”

Pippin paused in opening his own tobacco pouch for a moment. “I’m sure Frodo will have something ready for Sam,” he replied, smiling a little.

Merry smirked. “Between him and Gandalf, I’m sure you’re right,” he said.

“After all, look what we’ve managed to do since Frodo left,” Pippin agreed.

“I bet Sam can’t wait to tell him about the Westmarch,” Merry said, pursing his lips to send a plume of smoke up and out. “I wonder if he packed any of Robin and Bilbo’s wines?”

“Or that bread, with the olives in it.”

Merry saw the moment in which Pippin’s light chatter fled, the way his eyes lowered to his hands, carefully packing the Longbottom Leaf into his pipe. Merry scooted closer and put his arm around Pippin’s shoulders. “Sam will be all right.”

Pippin shrugged. “Oh, I know.” He leaned forward (Merry’s arm slid off his back), lit a match by the simple expedient of sticking its end into the fire. “I’m more worried about me, to be honest,” he said, and then he put the pipe to his lips and got it going with the efficiency of long practice.

Merry knew how much the simple statement had cost; he let him work, and when Pippin was sitting up again, hunched over a little, smoking quietly, Merry put his arm back over his shoulders. “Are you?” he asked gently.

“It’s been a bad half-year,” Pippin said. “Not for the Great Smials,” he added. “Just. You know.”

“Yes—Diamond,” Merry replied. “Why didn’t you write?”

“I thought about it,” Pippin said. “But there’s naught you can do—naught I can do.” He looked down, huddling a little closer to Merry. “She was in a lot of pain at first,” he said, very quietly. “But she didn’t tell me—didn’t tell anyone. It was Primrose figured it out, finally—the healer over Tuckborough way. By then we all knew she was failing, but it was Primrose who finally did something about the pain, and got her taking a poppy infusion.”

“That’s good, then,” Merry said, trying his best to sound pleased, though he was horrified, too—could all too easily imagine Diamond’s stubborn nature fighting silently against the illness which was consuming her slow bit by slow bit.

“Yes, it’s mostly good,” Pippin said. “She can’t really get out of bed, though, which has been hard—her balance isn’t good. Though even without the poppy, she’d be too weak now, I expect.” His pipe smoked and went out, and he turned his head, pressing it into Merry’s shoulder all at once, though the rest of his body was still. “Forgive me,” he said quietly.

“For what?” Merry asked, genuinely surprised. He bent his head and kissed Pippin’s hair. “I should be asking your pardon, for not coming sooner—not being with you both.”

“For not—” Pippin hesitated. “We should be speaking of Sam,” he said, finally. “And yet all I can think of is Diamond.”

“Sam will be fine, Pip,” Merry said. “He’s gone to where his best rest and hope of happiness lies, with the only soul he ever loved as dear as Rose.” He gripped Pippin’s shoulder, tucked him closer yet against his side. “Diamond is here, still, and you are, and me. We’ve got to take care of each other as best we can.”

“Yes,” Pippin said. “Thank you.” He shifted for a moment, setting his pipe aside, then huddled close again. “I’m so tired.”

“When we get back to the Smials I’m staying with you,” Merry said. “There’s nothing Periadoc can’t handle back at home.”

“Merry,” Pippin said, and Merry heard the rest of the words without their needing to be said aloud: _You can’t, it’s the harvest, there’s too much, I’ll be fine._

And Merry replied without words, too, tipping Pippin’s face up and pressing a brief kiss to his lips. _I can and I will, it doesn’t matter, this is more important, I’ll be there with you._

Always.

They slept curled together against the chill autumn air, and in the morning they packed up and rode to the Grey Towers, leading Bill the Pony, to tell Elanor and the other Gamgee children that their papa had been safely seen off, sailing across the Sea to the undying lands.


End file.
